


Lonely Hearts

by PhoenixSolo



Category: Marvel MCU, avengers endgame - Fandom
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Bisexual Bucky, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Confused Bucky, Homophobic Thoughts, childhood cancer, choo choo bitches, endgame spoilers, fxck cancer, post Endgame, prior Steve/Bucky, sad bucky, steve’s an asshole in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-03-02 06:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18805768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixSolo/pseuds/PhoenixSolo
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is resetting his life after the events of Endgame. He learns to do many things again, including love.





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t care how big and bad ass you think you are, Sergeant Barnes, if a toddler hands you a toy phone, you answer it!” 

Bucky Barnes has been through it all—combat, forced servitude, the loss of one he held dear to his heart—but he’s never been confronted with a crying toddler. 

The nurse is short and petite, with strawberry blonde hair and glasses-framed blue eyes that normally held a smile but are now filled with exasperation as she picks up the crying toddler in question and comforts him. 

It’s Sam’s fault, he decides. Wilson has dragged him to this children’s hospital in an effort to get him out of the house. Moping, he had followed, if only to get Wilson off of his back. 

It’s been three years since Steve...died? Left? Vanished? Bucky didn’t know what to call it. 

He just knew that one could pilot a Kree warship through the hole in his heart. 

Bucky had loved Steve. Not like a brother or a friend, but as someone he’d considered spending the rest of his life with. 

But that love was never returned. Instead, Steve had gone back to the 1940s. He’s an old widower, tending to SHIELD affairs from behind a desk. Bucky elects to no longer see Steve, even though Steve has tried to contact him. 

So for the last three years, Bucky Barnes has been transient, traveling around the northeast, doing odd jobs for money and a safe place to crash. 

It ended a few months ago when Sam found him on the street and insisted he move in. Bucky has a stable roof over his head and a part time job working construction. 

But he still feels empty. Nothing can replace that hole in his heart, the one that longs to be loved in return. 

Sam’s solution: volunteering. Bucky has volunteered at the pet shelter three times this month. The shelter has no shortage of volunteers because everyone loves animals and Bucky has been turned away for the week.

So Sam has suggested the pediatric oncology ward at the children’s hospital. Since they’re both “heroes”—even if Bucky exactly the feels the opposite—background checks were pretty much negated. 

So after the demonstration on hygiene, Bucky was directed to the playroom. 

Barnes is now sitting on the floor, surrounded by children of all ages with many forms; the cocoa skinned toddler who had held out a toy phone to him had “acute lymphoblastic leukemia, B-cell”, for example. His name is Malachi but the nurse calls him “Boog”. His parents work a collective total of five jobs to pay for his treatment and Barnes has seen the father but not the mother. The father had come by in the wee hours of the morning to hold Malachi and cuddle him close as the boy slept; the mother was rumored to have made an appearance the other day. 

Then the father put his son back tenderly, plopped a paternal kiss on the boy’s cheek, tucked a new stuffed animal under his arm and left. 

Back in the present, Barnes now holds up his hands in supplication. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing—“ 

“LANGUAGE, you dense walnut!” She puts Malachi down and plants her hands on her hips. The other children giggle: Barnes is in for it now.

The nurse pinches the bridge of her nose and heaves a sigh. “Just have a seat and play with them, that’s all I asked—“ she grumbles. 

“I’ve never played with kids before—“ Bucky feels like he’s under more scrutiny than when he was Ross’s prisoner. 

The nurse’s face melts with sympathy—but only a little. “Never?” 

Bucky shakes his head, chestnut locks swaying. 

“I forgive you—but only a little.” The nurse, whose name tag reads Hope, wags a finger at him. A cry breaks out: Malachi has wandered away and taken another child’s toy. 

She’s his age, he notes absently. She’s got the “old soul” look in her eyes. He recognizes that look. He’s seen it in the mirror. 

He wonders how that look got into her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

“I can’t stop thinking about her, Sam.” 

It’s a few days later. Bucky is at the table, nursing a cup of juice. 

“So go see her!” Sam drinks the rest of the juice from the bottle.

Bucky snorts. “Easy for you to say, birdbrain, you know what you’re doing. You’ve got years of practice.” 

“Waitaminnit—aren’t you into men?” 

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know anymore.” 

Sam sits across from Bucky at the table. “Ya know I’ll accept you as a friend either way, I just gotta know if I’m setting you up with the girl from accounting or the guy from accounting!”

“Why does my personal life matter to you so much?” 

Sam leans in and smiles conspiratorially. “Because it makes me look good.” 

Bucky scrubs his face with his palm. “I don’t even know anymore, man. This nurse...she’s…pretty, she’s smart, she’s kind…”

“She’s gotta be that special if you're out of words to describe her.”

Bucky is silent for a few moments, then nods.

Sam nods sagely. “Yeah, you got it bad. Lemme guess: blond and blue eyes?” 

“Yeah. Tiny. I could wrap my hands around her waist. Fierce, too.” 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone else we both know…” 

Bucky puts his head in his hands. “I hadn’t even thought of that—“

“Well that’s good then! You don’t want to hook up with someone that reminds you of your ex flame.” 

“Okay, in my defense, there’s nobody else that I share life experiences with,” Bucky snarks. 

“You’re right.” Sam refills the empty glass in front of Bucky. “So make some life experiences.”

———

It’s a week and a half later. 

Bucky is registering at the hospital volunteer desk when he sees her. 

“Hey there, didn’t think we’d see you again!” She tucks a blond strand behind her ear. She’s wearing Paw Patrol scrubs and Bucky only knows it’s Paw Patrol because Sam had informed him of the latest favorite kid shows. 

“Yeah, I…” Bucky is at a loss for words. How do you tell a potential love interest that you wanted to see them again without being creepy about it? “...wanted to check in on Malachi.” 

“Heh. He’s actually been asking about you—well, as much asking as a toddler can do.” She smiles. “I’m Hope, I’m his nurse. Wash your hands and face and meet me on the ward.” She goes down the hallway, presumably to the ward. 

The check in nurse, Rema, an older woman with brown hair shot through with silver, gives him a steely grey eyed glare. 

Bucky cringes away after signing his name, heading to the sink and washing his hands. He silently thanks the science that blessed vibranium to be rust resistant, then dries his hands and makes his way down the hallway. 

He’s at the front desk for exactly .02 seconds when a happy squeal alerts him to a child’s presence. Something latches around his leg and he looks down. 

It’s Malachi. He’s looking tired but ecstatic to see Bucky. He releases Bucky’s legs and holds up his arms, demanding “up!”, IV cord jumping up and down. Bucky grabs the IV pole before it falls over, forgetting it has wheels. 

Unsure of himself, Bucky glances over at Hope, who is standing in the hallway with a smile. She nods, mouthing “watch the IV!” and points to her own slim wrist. 

Bucky loops his hands under Malachi’s arms and hoists the child up, mindful of the IV. “Hey buddy, how are you feeling today?” 

“Beebee Shark!!” Is Malachi’s enthusiastic response. He points imperiously towards Hope, who leads the two down the hallway (IV pole trailing like a lost puppy). 

The first thing Bucky sees is a large yellow stuffed shark on Malachi’s bed. The boy wriggles in Bucky’s arms, chanting “down peez!” Bucky puts him down on the bed and Malachi grabs the shark, cuddling it. He babbles and wiggles enthusiastically on the bed. 

Bucky looks frantically over at Hope, who comes over and pulls an iPad out of seemingly nowhere. She opens it to YouTube.

“Now I’ve gotta teach you the movements,” she says wryly. “Like this—“ 

As the song plays, Hope teaches Bucky the moves and Malachi starts giggling. He joins in with teaching Bucky the moves. 

And twenty minutes later, Bucky is smiling and giggling at Malachi and doing the dance again. This time, there’s an audience outside the window, with Rema and a few other nurses. Cellphones are out and there’s giggling and photos. 

Bucky doesn’t care. At this point, he’s decided he’d do anything for Malachi. 

Including 306 repetitions of Baby Shark. 

On the 307th time, Malachi yawns and his eyelids begin drooping. He stops the movements and reaches up his arms. Bucky picks him up and Malachi curls against Bucky’s broad chest. He’s asleep in moments as Bucky walks him around the room. It’s only then that the nurses disperse and Hope holds out her arms for Malachi. 

Bucky reluctantly turns the boy over to the nurse. She places him into the bed and Bucky pulls the blanket over the boy, tucking him in. He makes sure to put the stuffed shark in easy reach.

“He’s doing better today,” Hope says solemnly, reminding Bucky of Malachi’s precarious health. “He had chemo the other day and today is the first time he’s been out of bed since then.” 

“Is he gonna be okay?” 

Hope smiles. “It’s a curable cancer. With treatment and good luck, he’ll be on his way to a normal childhood here in a few years.” 

Bucky sighs with relief.

“With any illness, there’s always a chance. He needs a stem cell transplant,” Hope says into her hands. “His parents aren’t a match and Malachi is an only child.” 

“What then?” 

“Well, we have to rely on Be the Match and other such organizations. They’re basically a registry that people voluntarily sign up to donate blood marrow,” Hope elaborates upon seeing the look of confusion on Bucky’s face. 

“What about me?” Bucky turns to face Hope. 

“If you’re willing to be tested, we can do that first. Your blood types have to match, plus there are other things…” 

“Sign me up, then.”


	3. Chapter 3

The blood test is scheduled for the next week. Bucky isn’t too concerned about it just simply because he doesn’t know what to expect beyond what Hope told him. 

Today, he’s out for a jog, like he does every morning. 

“Sam, I’m out!” Bucky shouts towards the back of the house. He exits, closing the door behind him, then pulls his hood over his face and stretches out. He takes off at a leisurely pace down the streets. 

As he jogs, Bucky’s thoughts wander. 

He remembers the first time he laid eyes on Steve: Steve had picked a fight with a kid twice his size and Bucky waded in to keep the smaller kid from being pounded. 

_“You gotta stop writing checks your mouth can’t cash, pal.”_

Steve’s eyes had widened and he’d latched onto Bucky like a younger—or smaller—sibling at first, then as a friend. 

As they grew older, Bucky’s feelings changed. They went from fondness of a friend to dreaming about Steve at night. He’d imagine sinking into Steve’s mouth, Steve’s face as Bucky pushed slowly into him, a variety of explicit situations.

Confused beyond belief—because boys weren’t supposed to have feelings for boys like that—Bucky forced himself to go out with girls. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t find girls attractive. He did. He had those daydreams about several girls in high school. 

But he didn’t feel anything about any one of those girls the way he did Steve. The feelings didn’t change when Steve had rescued him from Zola’s clutches.

But they did when he left this timeline and returned a married widower with grandchildren. 

Bucky had walked away from that platform and didn’t look back. 

Hope is different from the other girls. 

Bucky feels for Hope as he does—did—Steve. 

And, as he jogs up the steps into the apartment he shares with Wilson, Bucky has what his momma called a “Come to Jesus” moment.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna ask her out, Sam.” 

———

The next week, Bucky is in the elevator, on the phone with Sam, on his way to visit the kids again and for his appointment. 

“You sure about this, bud?” Sam asks. 

“I want to get to know her better.” 

“Yeah, I get that, but are you sure you’re ready for _this?_ ”

“No one's ever ready for anything,” Bucky sighs and hangs up. 

He’s got a baggie with something for Malachi; with Sam’s help, he’s looked up if he can bring Hope flowers. It turns out he can’t: live plants on an oncology ward could put everyone at risk for illness. 

The door opens and Malachi’s adorable little face is the first thing Bucky sees. He stoops down to scoop the boy up, laughing lightly. “Hey kiddo, how ya feelin?” 

Malachi babbles a wheezy response, then wriggles to be put down. “Okay kiddo, we will go play in a few minutes.” 

“Malachi?! Malachi, where are you?!” Hope’s panicked voice sounds from the hallway. Bucky fixes a playful glare on the boy, who grins impishly and dashes off. Bucky follows him, barely containing his laughter. 

“Come on, kiddo, it’s time for treatment—“ Hope’s exasperated voice calls from the hallway. 

Bucky walk-chases Malachi into the break room for families; nobody is currently in there. Malachi ducks behind the couch and squeals with glee when Bucky appears behind him with a “boo!” 

And promptly starts coughing and wheezing.

Bucky, panicking, glances out in the hallway. Hope is down the hall, still searching for them, and he waves at her. “He’s in here—he’s coughing—!” 

Hope rushes into the room, pulling out her stethoscope. “Hey, hey Boog, hey… we’re here, we gotcha…” 

Malachi's coughing slows and stops as Hope listens to his lungs and gently flaps his arms. “Breathe, baby, breathe, that’s it, there ya go…” 

Malachi’s breathing slowly settles to normal. Hope picks him up and rubs his back. “Let’s keep up with your treatments, okay?” 

With a silent nod from Malachi, Hope walks him down the hallway, motioning her head for Bucky to follow.

———

“He’s got bronchitis,” Hope says sadly. “Today is a good day; he’s out of bed.” 

Bucky immediately feels guilty: did he bring it in on his person when he visited?

Hope is quick to allay those concerns: “It wasn’t you, he’s had it off and on for a while. He’s SUPPOSED to be confined to his room today.” This last part was directed only half playfully at Malachi, who completely ignores her. He is content to sit in Bucky’s lap, grabbing magnets out of the bag that Bucky brought. “He’s not contagious, but it’s harder for him to breathe.” 

It’s just a collection of them, ones Bucky has found at bodegas and chain stores. He doesn’t know what toddlers like—when his sister was a toddler, she liked pebbles. 

The bag contains random magnets, both in and out of packages. There’s cars, sharks, emojis, letters… Malachi’s favorite is the shark one: he attempts to stick it to Bucky’s shoulder by his neck but the toddler is disappointed when it falls. Absently, Bucky guides the magnet to his bicep, where the magnet sticks. Malachi’s eyes widen and he grabs the baggy and dumps it; magnets fall everywhere. Hope scoops up some of them and puts them back in the baggy. “Try two or three at a time, Boog.” 

Malachi is entranced by Bucky’s arm: Bucky bites back a laugh as Malachi attempts to stick a magnet on his own arm, only to watch it fall off. Without thinking about what he was doing, Bucky carefully removes his jacket to show Malachi his arm, something Bucky had never in a million years thought of doing. It needs to be removed anyways so Hope can access his arm for the blood test. 

Malachi’s dark chocolate eyes nearly pop out of his head and Hope lets out a stifled gasp. Bucky picks up a magnet and sticks it to his left arm: it stays. Malachi lets out the most adorable “OHHHH” that Bucky has ever heard and proceeds to decorate the man’s arm with magnets. 

It is only then that Bucky realizes internally that he has never taken off his jacket, sweater or long sleeve shirt in a public setting. 

“Um, okay, so now I have to take some blood from you— to get you set up for the donor program.” Hope stammers. 

_Oh god, what have I done?! She knows me, she knows what I’ve done, there’s no chance now—_

Her hands shake almost imperceptibly and Bucky is about two seconds from bolting from the lab, the hospital and the city when he realizes Malachi is no longer in his lap. 

Hope realizes it at the same time. “Malachi?!” 

Almost half a second later, Malachi comes back into the room, dragging his IV pole and an older girl that Bucky doesn’t know. She has olive skin paled by illness and hollowed cheeks, but bright and hopeful eyes. She’s wearing long sleeve pajamas and slippers and walks with an uneven gait. Her age is indeterminate until she speaks: “okay, okay, what’s so funny?!” Bucky places her as probably middle school aged.

Malachi drags her over to Bucky’s right side and picks up a magnet. He brandishes it for dramatic effect, like a tv product demonstrator, and attempts to stick it to Bucky's right arm. 

It falls and the girl looks at Malachi. “I’m sorry, bud, magnets don’t stick to— _waitadamnminnit!_ ” 

Malachi has flounced over to Bucky’s left side (ignoring Hope’s pleas for order and the girl to watch her language) and brandished another magnet. With a dramatic flourish, he applies it to Bucky’s bicep—and there it stays. 

The girl stares at Bucky with distrust in her eyes. “What are you, some kind of robocop?” He recognizes her Brooklyn accent among his embarrassment. 

“Lost an arm.” _Shit, they’ll know. I’ve got to get out of here—_

The girl softens somewhat. “In the war?” 

“Yeah.” _Don’t really need to tell her which one…_

“I lost a leg in a car accident when I was five.” The girl hikes up the right leg of her pajama pants, revealing a prosthetic leg ending in a slipper. It’s covered in stickers of unicorns, Grumpy Cat and some old 90s fads. 

Malachi grabs a magnet and applies it to the girl’s leg. It sticks. “I’m Juana,” the girl says. “Everyone here calls me Jo.” 

This child. She’s probably eleven, twelve, maybe thirteen at the most but she has the cynical attitude of someone his age. She’s seen too much...

Hope, silent for the previous few moments, speaks up. “Okay, Bucky, gonna need you to, uh, to roll up your right sleeve…” She seems flustered and Bucky doesn’t blame her: it’s not every day a former Hydra assassin is under the needle. 

She’s very close physically to him. So close he can smell the citrus of her shampoo. He inhales sharply, the scent flooding his nostrils.

And then he feels...happy. Just being in her presence floods him with joy. 

So much so that he doesn’t mind the needle in his arm, or the kids sticking magnets to his arm or Jo’s leg or everything else except the computers. 

As she finishes drawing the sample, Hope turns away.

And Bucky realizes sadly that he would have no chance with her. 

He’s killed countless people, he’s betrayed his country, he’s…

Unlovable. 

And Bucky realizes why Steve left him standing there by the platform. 

“Hold your arm up,” Hope says, applying a cotton ball to the site and wrapping it. She lifts Bucky’s arm to the position it should be in. 

She’s _touching_ him. Through gloves but she’s _touching_ him.

Bucky is depressed and hopeful all at once. 

Hope finishes wrapping labeling the vials and smile at him. “You’re free to go.” She leaves to put the vials in wherever samples go. 

Malachi clambers up into Bucky’s lap and wraps his skinny little arms around Bucky’s solid neck. Bucky realizes exactly how tiny the boy is. 

How ill he is. 

He’s light as a feather as Bucky picks him with his left arm. Jo watches solemnly as Bucky carries Malachi down to his room. 

Malachi is asleep on Bucky’s shoulder before he gets there. He tucks Malachi into the bed with all the care of handling a Ming vase, signs out and leaves. Rema gives him a nod.

As Bucky enters the apartment he shares with Sam, he realizes two things: 

One: Malachi and Jo had left magnets on his arm.

Two: he didn’t ask Hope out.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey, congratulations on being viral, man!” 

Bucky is confused as hell. Sam may be his age but the two speak very different generational vernacular. Sam turns on the TV to the news channel—

—where the video of him, a feared and loathed former assassin and killer, is performing Baby Shark with Malachi. 

Only the scroll headline underneath the video doesn’t say he’s a former assassin. It says “Recluse Avenger has a soft side”. 

The video shows Bucky smiling and laughing and Malachi dancing and giggling while Hope and the rest of the world look on. 

Bucky desperately hopes that he is a match for the toddler. 

He doesn’t care that people greet him with humor and smiles and that they actually seem to want to be in his presence. 

He doesn’t care that girls and boys stop him in the street to dance with him (he participates anyways because the smiles on the children’s faces get him through the day). 

He simply does not care that people no longer actively avoid him. Rather, they seek him out. 

Bucky turns down interviews, citing a busy schedule, but really he just wants to hide. He did not expect this kind of game post snap. 

“You’re sure to land a date now,” Sam chortles. Bucky throws a pillow at him. 

All he cares about now is just saving this kid. 

———

He gets the news a few excruciating weeks and four visits later: he is not a match. 

The paper is emotionless, empty and cruel: “we regret to inform you that you are not a match for Malachi Jones.”

It goes on to thank Bucky for his interest and that his blood type would be logged for future patients. 

He goes in to see Hope again, his head hung low. He’s failed this boy, this sick child who thought the moon and stars hung from him. 

He’s failed Hope. 

She won’t want him near the kids again. 

The elevator opens to the children’s floor—

And there is an air of celebration. Rema, for once, gives Bucky an actual smile. A sincerely happy and joyful one. 

Before she can say anything, Hope launches herself from seemingly out of nowhere into Bucky’s arms with an ecstatic shout. “They found a match!” 

“Huh?” 

“For Malachi!” Hope wraps her arms around Bucky’s waist. “He’s gonna get his transplant!” 

Malachi is dancing in the hallway, as well as toddlers can dance. Jo is laughing and celebrating as well. 

All awful things, all depressing things, everything bad and evil and diabolical in the world just melt away at the sight of Malachi’s face. 

Bucky knows the child doesn’t know why they are celebrating; Malachi just knows that there’s a party and he’s having the time of his thus far short little life. 

Bucky finds himself enveloping Hope closer. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just knows he ecstatic for Malachi and Hope and everyone else on the floor. 

And then she.

Kisses.

Him.

Hope kisses James Buchanan Barnes. 

It’s full of her namesake, the emotion that keeps people wanting more. The feeling that makes people go through hell and to keep on going. He wraps his arms around her, cupping the back of her head with his flesh arm and pulling her to him with his metal one. Her hands clench against his chest, grabbing handfuls of his shirt in an effort to pull him to and into her. 

Bucky doesn’t register the hooting and hollering of the nursing staff and some of the older kids until they break for air. Someone—later discovered to be Rema—shouts: “finally!”

They separate and Hope steps back with a bright blush on her face, adorably chagrined in her embarrassment. Bucky feels like flying and melting into the floor all at once. 

And Bucky finds his voice. “Do you...do you wanna get a coffee?”


	5. Chapter 5

They’ve been tentatively dating for six months now. They aren’t really exclusive but they aren’t really “playing the field”. 

Bucky finds himself smiling every time he thinks of Hope. He absently picks up tiny little things at the markets and bodegas because he thinks she might like them. A candy bar, a cute magnet, a drink...anything he thinks she might like. She does the same for him and his room is filled with knicknacks and doodads and wingdings. His favorite is the turtle made of seashells with a pair of dolls sunglasses glued sloppily to its “face”. 

It’s in this way that he finds out she’s allergic to peanuts, that she loves fluffy animals, that she prefers cotton to silk (something Bucky keeps in mind for later). 

“Ohhh you got it bad, my man.” Sam says today. He’s reeking of Stetson and Bucky suspects Sam is seeing that one girl in accounting he’d been set up with a year ago. 

“Hey, I’m not the one smelling like Sephora over here.”

“That you even know what Sephora is hilarious!” Sam ducks out the door before Bucky can retort. 

Malachi’s bronchitis cleared up enough and he had his transfusion a month and a half ago. Bucky had not been allowed to see him for health reasons and Bucky finds himself picking up toys a toddler might enjoy. He has accumulated a large bag of toys and books for the child, looking forward to the day where he’d be allowed to go. 

The date is marked on his calendar at home vividly in red ink.

Hope has been giving him updates on Malachi’s progress: the donor was anonymous, Malachi stood up today, Malachi ate solid foods today, Malachi gained two pounds this week (no insignificant amount when he only weighed about twenty five when Bucky met him). 

This day, six months after the match for Malachi was found, Bucky is now allowed to visit. In one hand, he holds a bouquet of fake, cloth flowers for Hope. In the other, a blue smiling shark for Malachi. In his cargo pocket, a book for Jo, whom he found out recently like Edgar Allen Poe. 

The check in nurse Rema gives him a sad look.

He sees Hope in the hallway, but something is wrong. 

She’s leaning against the wall with her head in her hands. Another nurse is holding her and she’s crying openly. 

Malachi’s dad is holding a woman with dark mocha skin and knotted hair that Bucky presumes is Malachi’s mother—

And Bucky’s heart sinks into his stomach. He puts the flowers down on a counter and approaches timidly. “Hope…?” 

She looks up at him, eyes red. Then she disengages from the other nurse and buries her head in his chest. 

And from the aggrieved looks on their faces, Bucky realizes the truth. 

And why Hope has such an “old soul” look to her eyes. 

Cancer is indiscriminate. It is a cruel and vindictive thing: it gives nothing but takes everything. 

The information is slow in coming, given the tears and choked up voices. Malachi had gone to bed with a fever and fought hard against an acute infection but had lost overnight. His little body couldn’t take anymore. 

Several minutes later, Bucky looks around the room Malachi had occupied and his eyes light on two things: the toy phone and a piece of paper with a drawing. 

The drawing is in a shaky hand but Bucky can make out several figures: Malachi, his mother and father, his friend Jo and Hope and one more. 

With a black and gold left arm. 

“He babbled about you a lot.” 

Bucky turns to see Malachi’s mother. She is petite, with tired brown eyes and a tiny gold cross around her neck. 

She wipes a tear from her eye with a tissue and continues, sniffling. “I’m Sharice. I work three jobs but Michael would come at night and FaceTime with me so I could see him. He showed me that drawing…” She motions towards the paper. 

Bucky holds it out to her. “I’m so sorry.” 

“There wasn’t anything either of us could do.” Sharice gives Bucky a small, sad smile and gently pushes the drawing back out to him. “You keep it.” She wraps her arms around Bucky’s chest—the top of her head comes up to just below his pectoral muscle—and gives him a tight, warm hug. “Thank you for making his last few months happy.” 

Unsure of what to do, Bucky hands her the shark he had purchased for Malachi. Sharice wraps her arms around it and sobs as Bucky holds her against him. 

———

He donates the toys he bought for Malachi to the hospital and leaves the book for Jo. She’s distraught and numb, same as everyone else, so Bucky puts the book on her bed, pats her shoulder and leaves. 

Then he goes home and upends his bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam finds Bucky in his room later that night, a shattered mess in the dark. Four bottles of cheap whiskey lay empty on the floor. The room is a wreck: the bed is upended, the mirror above the dresser is in pieces, the knickknacks are strewn about the floor. 

Sam sighs. Bucky can’t get drunk but drinking is still a bad habit to get into. 

“Hey.” 

“Get out.” 

“Wanna tell me about it?” 

“Out.” 

“Okay, man, just…” Sam scrubs his face with his hand. “There are other fish in the sea…” He’s not really good at the break up speech.

“Get. Out.” 

Sam knows that tone. An object whizzes past his head to crash against the wall and clatter on the floor. He looks down.

It’s a toy phone. 

And Sam realizes that this isn’t a break up. “Aw shit…” he says to himself. 

He leaves Bucky to his darkened room. Nothing he could say will make this situation any better.

The next day, nothing has changed: Bucky’s door is closed, his room is darkened and he hasn’t left it.

Knowing a hospital won’t give information to anyone over the phone, Sam checks with the hospital and his worst fears are confirmed: the kid Bucky had taken a liking to had passed. 

The nurses are numb; Hope is nowhere to be found. “She’s on bereavement leave,” Rema says quietly. “Is Bucky coming back?” 

“I hope so,” Sam says, more to himself than the check in nurse. He takes an obituary notice from Rema: the kid’s funeral is three days away. 

“Me too,” says Rema dejectedly. “Jo needs him.” 

“Jo?”

Sam is escorted to a room where a scrawny and pale Latina girl lays on a bed, curled away from the door. His feet make a shuffling noise on the floor and the girl sits up with a hopeful gasp. 

He is heartbroken when her face falls and she turns away. “You’re not Bucky,” she says dejectedly. 

And Sam just wants to kill this thing called cancer for this child and the child that died and the other children sickened, maimed or killed by it. 

He goes back home, obit in hand. 

Three days later, Sam manages to get Bucky presentable for the funeral. Sharice and Michael, Malachi’s parents, are there; so is Rema. Sam doesn’t see any of the children but they wouldn’t be allowed to come out because of health reasons anyways. 

Hope and Bucky sit silently together, their hands intertwined. It’s their only interaction for the next few weeks.

A couple of weeks after the funeral, Sam is returning home from the VA. The mail had come while he was gone so he gathers it up.

There’s a letter for Bucky from Be the Match. “Hey Tinman, I’m opening your mail!” 

No response. 

So Sam tears open the envelope and scans it. “Holy shit—“

Bucky is still sequestered in his darkened room. Sam knocks, then pounds on the door. “Hey bud, you in there?”

“Fuck off” comes the faint reply.

“Nope.” Sam barges in. Bucky is sitting shirtless against the wall under the window. The room is sparse but cleaned up after Bucky’s depressive tantrum. “You gotta read this.” He thrusts the letter at Bucky, who pushes it aside.

Sam is persistent. “Don’t make me get the hose, tinman.” 

Bucky flinches and still ignores the letter. 

“You’ve been in here for two weeks, man,” Sam scolds. “Come on, this is important.” 

Bucky turns away. Whatever Sam is about to say is cut off by a knock at the door. 

Sam jigs to the door and opens it to find Hope standing there. She’s harried, probably hasn’t showered but she looks…

Alive. Vibrant. 

Hopeful. “I have to talk to Bucky—“

Sam scrubs the back of his head. “Of course but man, I don’t know. He’s out of it.”

Hope holds up a piece of paper. It’s similar to what Bucky was mailed. “I hope this can change his mood.” She barges past Sam and into Bucky’s room. 

Several moments of murmured voices later, Hope comes out with a smile and all that is seen of Bucky is his back as he dashes to the bathroom. Sam was about to say something with innuendo attached to it when she shakes her head with the same smile. 

“What’s going to happen now?” Sam asks instead. He bids Hope to sit at the dining room table and offers her a coffee. 

“Well first, Bucky is going to shower.” Hope wrinkles her nose. “Smells like alcohol and depression in there.” She chuckles, as does Sam. “Then he needs a good meal and to hydrate so he can be tested again, then he will need to fast and report to the address for the procedure.” 

“And who is the recipient of his marrow?” That information isn’t defined in the letter, as is procedure. 

“I don’t know. The kid is local, though. If the patient wants to, they’re allowed to meet with their donor.” Hope says. “If they elect not to, Bucky won’t have a way to find out whose life he’s saving.” 

Bucky comes out from his shower smelling clean and vibrant. His face still shows the bruised look of someone suffering from grief but his eyes are alive and vibrant; he’s—

“Bucky, put a shirt on!” Shirtless, wearing hastily pulled on jeans but no shoes. Due to his grief induced weight loss, the jeans sit low on his waist, giving everyone in the room a good eyeful of the flat planes of of his abdomen. Sam turns away. 

Or starts to. He watches Hope’s jaw drop as takes in Bucky’s muscular form, complete with missing left arm. 

“Huh—? Oh—oh.” Bucky startles a bit, realizing exactly who is in his dining room. He dashes to his room, probably three steps from the bathroom and re-emerges, tugging a shirt down one handed. “When do we leave?!”

“Uh—um—oh—“ Hope shakes her head as Sam raises an eyebrow at her. “You need your ID. I’ll, uh, I’ll meet you in the car.” 

With that, she exits the apartment post haste. 

Bucky casts a glance over at Sam. “What was that all about?”

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let me get this straight: she’s all you’ve talked about for the better part of last year and you two _still haven’t done the deed?!”_

It takes Bucky a few seconds to process what Sam was saying. “No, we—no.” 

“Do you _like_ her?” 

“She’s the world to me, man!” Bucky snaps as he adjusts his prosthetic arm. “I’m not gonna just randomly ask her to sleep with me—! It’s gotta be special.” 

“Man, you’re worse off than I thought,” Sam mutters to himself. 

An hour later finds Bucky and Sam at the hospital. Hope is there, just outside and dancing from foot to foot like an excited child. Bucky is reminded of someone else for a split second. 

Before they get into the building, she blurts out _“I know who the patient is!”_


	7. Chapter 7

_September 3rd, 2021_

_Dear Mr. James Barnes, Avenger:_

_It has come to the attention of this office that you seek to assist in healing practices. While your bodily fluids are not suited for standard procedural treatment options due to your super serum, we believe you can help in another way._

_There is a child in the hospital that has a very rare cancer and no amount of standard medication or radiation seems to help. We believe it is in this child’s best interests that an experimental treatment be utilized to further this child’s quality of life and possibly even cure the child of the cancer they suffer from._

_Please meet with the child’s nurse, whom you are familiar with, at the hospital on Wednesday the 25th and we would be happy to discuss it further._

_Signed:  
Dr. Adrian Smith_

_—————————————————————_

_October 28th, 2021  
Dear Hope Campanella, pediatric oncology RN: _

_It has come to the attention of this office that you are familiar with a James Barnes, formerly of the Avengers. We have been trying to reach him for nearly two month regarding an experimental treatment to be used on a patient in the care of the children’s hospital._

_As you may be aware, a patient in your care suffers from a rare cancer that does not appear to react to standard treatments. We believe it is in the best interests of the child in question to participate in an experimental study utilizing super soldier serum._

_As you are also aware, it must not be diluted and must be pure. The only other alternative for the serum in question is too old to safely participate in the study; therefore, we beg of you to please convince Mr. Barnes to participate and save lives of children everywhere. Time is running out for millions!_

_Signed:  
Dr. Adrien Smith_

_—————————————————————_

_“Bucky? You okay in here?” She wrinkled her nose at the odor of unwashed man and liquor._

_A sniffle alerted her to a corner by the darkened window. It appeared as if he had lifted the bed against the window to prevent light from coming in._

_“Me neither, baby. I...I haven’t slept well since the funeral.” Hope sat down beside Bucky and took his hand in hers._

_“What’s the point of anything anymore?” Bucky slammed back a shot, not caring that he can’t get drunk._

_“I don’t know.” Hope leaned her head against his shoulder, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “But I do know this: someone else could have a chance at life.”_

_“What do you mean? What are you talking about?” Bucky asked forlornly, scrubbing his face with his flesh hand._

_Hope startled. “Did you read the letter?”_

_“Last one I got was the one that said I wasn’t a match for Malachi.” Bucky waved his hand towards the overflowing paper waste basket in a corner of the room._

_“You gotta check your mail more often.” Hope thrust the paper in her hand into his face._

_Bucky scanned it with dejected eyes—eyes that widened when he read it a second, then a third time._

_“Who—who’s the patient?!” He asked with a dry throat._

_“Don’t know yet.” Hope shrugged. “I won’t find out til later. Will you help?” Bucky—crumpled up the letter and threw it away from him and turned away from Hope; she let out a frustrated sigh. “Bucky, I know you don’t think you can help people—believe me, I felt the same way—“_

_“Do you even know who I am?” Bucky seemed to collapse in on myself._

_“I’ve seen you before,” Hope said slowly. “In the news, I mean. You’re James Buchanan Barnes, formerly The Winter Soldier—“ She lay a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from her touch. “—but no longer. I know you’re good with kids, you’re humble and you’re a good guy.” She turned his face towards her own. “And I know you could save lives.”_

_“What if…what if I fuck it up again? What if it doesn’t work?”_

_“You keep moving.” Hope said gently. “You keep walking forward and you don’t look back.”_

_Something changed in Bucky’s demeanor just then and Hope just held him to her, willing the words she just said to make sense to Bucky because they didn’t even make sense to her. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against her neck, absorbing her comfort and hope._

_“Okay.”_

_“You’ll help?”_

_Bucky pulled away and gave her a wan smile. “Well, after that speech, I kinda have to.”_

_Hope giggled. “You can just tell them I guilted you into it.”_

_“I wouldn’t be wrong.”_

__


End file.
